


The Watcher

by Alisanne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1787257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/pseuds/Alisanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter likes to watch people in secret. He sees some pretty unexpected things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Watcher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [islandsmoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandsmoke/gifts).



> Written for Daily Deviant's 2013 Kinky Kristmas Fest. 
> 
> **Kinks/Themes Included:** Exhibitionism, voyeurism, threesome.
> 
> **Author's Notes:** Thanks to Sevfan and Emynn for the beta reading assistance, and to Islandsmoke for the fabulous prompt. :)

~

The Watcher

~

Peter adores the holidays, he always has. Everyone is so...carefree, festive and free with their favours, which means he gets to see a lot. And Peter really likes watching, always has. 

He grew up watching the neighbours through their windows. Having been a small child, he quickly became good at sneaking about, and he added spying to his repertoire quite early, thus seeing some things through windows that he probably shouldn’t have. 

But he doesn’t care about any of that now, because it’s Christmas and he knows he’ll see some very good things. _I always do._

Recalling the first time he watched his schoolmates, Peter smiles. Everyone thinks Lily Evans was such a good girl, but he knows better. He’s seen her with many boys, but the best was the train ride where he saw her with Sirius. 

~

They’re on their way back to Hogwarts after the Christmas hols, and James is bemoaning the fact that Evans still won’t speak to him. “...can’t see what she likes about that greasy git!” he exclaims. 

Sirius is uncharacteristically quiet, which immediately makes Peter suspicious. It’s Remus who speaks up. “He’s not so bad. Maybe if you tried talking to him instead of playing pranks you’d see that.” 

James snorts. “Who wants to talk to Snivellus? Merlin, the grease might rub off, hey, Siri?” 

But still Sirius isn’t talking. Peter’s eyes narrow. Something’s definitely up. 

Remus rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I just think that if you were nicer to Snape, maybe Evans would be nicer to you. But what do I know?” 

James frowns. “You know, that’s not bad. What do you think, Siri?”

Sirius, who apparently realises James isn’t going to stop talking, shrugs. “Worth a try.” He raises an eyebrow. “Where is Evans, anyway?” 

“Dunno.” James sighs. “We need a way of keeping track of people. When we get back, we need to work on that map we keep talking about. And our Animagus transformations.”

His news is trembling on the tip of his tongue, but before Peter can say anything, James is continuing. 

“I know that if I could get Evans alone she’d listen to me.” 

“Right, because she’s always listened to you before.” Remus shakes his head.

“I think I saw her with the trolley lady earlier,” Peter offers timidly. “I’m hungry anyway and I’m going to get something to eat. Want me to tell her you’re looking for her?” 

“Are you mad?” James snaps. “She’ll probably run the other way. No, I’ll find her myself.” 

Peter sighs and looks away. “Suit yourself. Anyone want anything?” 

Sirius and Remus both shake their heads, and James has already left in search of Evans, so Peter slinks out of the carriage and heads in the general direction of the trolley lady. 

Of course, when he finds her, she’s out of all the good sweets. All she has left is Jelly Slugs, which he hates, so he heads back to the carriage empty handed. When he gets back, however, he can see Remus is gone but Sirius is still there. With Evans? Peter blinks and catches himself just before he walks in. “...can’t keep pretending, Siri--” 

As the door opens they both turn towards Peter. Sirius scowls. “Can’t you see we’re having a private conversation?” 

Peter nods and backs out. They both turn away from him once the door’s closed as if already having forgotten he’s there.

Biting his lip, Peter looks around, making sure he’s alone. He’s worked so hard over the holiday break and finally, two days before school was to start he achieved his Animagus transformation. _Why not use it_? he thinks. 

Concentrating, he flows into his animal form and immediately the world gets bigger since he’s so much smaller. There’s a crack by the door, enough for him to squeeze into the carriage, so he does, and of course no one notices him. 

Still, Peter’s careful, manoeuvring his way up behind one of the seats. Peering over the top he almost falls when he sees what’s happening. Someone (Peter suspects it’s Evans given how brilliant she is at Charms) has charmed the carriage windows to reflect something quite different to what’s actually happening.

Evans, her skirt hiked up, is astride Sirius. “...shouldn’t be doing this,” she pants as she moves up and down rhythmically. Her blouse is open and from where he’s watching, Peter can see her tits bouncing in her bra.

Sirius’ hands slide cup to cup her arse. “Probably not the best idea, you’re right,” he groans. “If James finds out--” 

“Don’t want to talk about him.” Evans braces her hands on Sirius’ shoulders and rotates her hips. Sirius’ eyes roll back in his head and his back arches as he drives deeper into her. 

Peter squeaks, his tiny rat paws clutching seat leather as he watches them. Evans shifts, and for a moment he sees where they’re joined and it’s too much. His tiny rat cock twitches and spurts over the back of the carriage seat and he slides back behind it, himself panting.

By the time he’s regained his senses, he hears the rustle of clothes and when he looks again, Evans is dressed, looking like nothing ever happened. 

“See you tonight after the welcome back feast?” she asks. 

Sirius nods. “All right, but we really can’t keep hiding this from--” 

Evans places a finger over Sirius’ lips. “You’re the one I want. James will just have to accept that.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow. He knows that isn’t going to go well. 

As Evans starts for the door, he scurries down the back of the seat and is in place just in time to slip out the door as she opens it. Keeping to the shadows, he’s not sure where he’s going, but keeps his Animagus form. _Who knows what else I may see_? 

He hears familiar voices and scurries in that direction. Sniffing at another carriage door, he thinks he smells someone he knows. There’s another crack by that door, too, and, grateful for the shoddy construction of the Hogwarts Express, Peter slips inside the carriage. 

Voices whisper softly and it takes a moment, but Peter finally recognises Remus. Peering around the base of a seat, his eyes go wide. 

Remus, naked, is on his back, his hand resting in dark hair. The person who’s sucking him raises his head and Peter’s mouth falls open. 

“This is all you want?” Snape purrs. “My mouth?”

“I thought that was all that was on offer,” Remus moans. 

Snape, also naked, slides up Remus’ body. Peter catches a glimpse of his prick and feels a stab of envy. 

“My entire body is on offer,” Snape finally says once face to face with Remus. He smirks. “My mouth, my arse...Just tell me what you want.” 

Remus growls, flipping Snape over and pinning him. “I want whatever you’ll let me have.” 

Snape, clearly unafraid, smirks up at him. Peter wonders when _that_ happened. “Then stop talking and take me.”

They have clearly done this before Peter realises as he watches. The way Remus knows just where to touch Snape to make him shudder, and the way Snape arches to meet Remus after he’s fingered him for a while suggest a long-standing relationship. 

_And no one else knows,_ Peter thinks as they writhe together. _How does no one know_?

Remus, whose thrusts are getting faster, less rhythmic, groans and shudders before collapsing atop Snape. Snape, his legs wrapped around Remus’ neck, bucks up against him once, twice, before a soft whimper escapes and he, too, comes. 

~

Peter shakes himself out of the memory. All around him, people are buzzing, excited to leave for their hols. Things aren’t like they were before. He has to be careful these days, and he can’t honestly recall when he was last in human form. But, with the things he sees, there are days he really doesn’t mind. 

He’s been passed from Weasley to Weasley, adopted into the family as a familiar by sheer luck. After the Potters’ demise, he runs, escaping to the furthest place he can think of. He exists for several years, scavenging what he can find, always running when he thinks someone may have noticed him. He thinks Sirius is in Azkaban, but for all he knows Remus is looking for him. 

It’s sheer serendipity that takes him across Charlie Weasley’s path. _How was I to know that Charlie Weasley would be doing his apprenticeship in Romania_? 

Still, it worked out for Peter. After rescuing Peter from the claws of a baby dragon, intent on eating him, Charlie had recognised Peter’s magical nature, and had adopted him. 

“What do you want with a familiar?” Vlad, Charlie’s supervisor at the time had asked. 

Charlie had simply shrugged. “He’ll make a good gift for one of my brothers.” 

Which was how Peter had been given to Bill. But not before he’d seen plenty of Charlie. 

_Now there’s a bloke who knows how to live,_ thought Peter, recalling the holidays at the Reserve. Charlie’s probably the least discriminating bloke Peter’s ever seen. Blokes, birds, at times both simultaneously, he doesn’t mind who he shares his bed with. And Peter has a front row seat for all of it. 

The Christmas that he’s gifted to Percy is one of his favourite memories, in fact. 

Charlie’s planning to return to England for the holidays, but his lovers at that time, another apprentice named Rita, and a local man named Sergei, throw him a going-away bash that Peter never forgets. _Talk about sending him off with a bang._

Peter smiles as he ponders the memories. 

~

Rita arrives first that night, carrying a bag that Charlie immediately notices. “Is that my Christmas present?” he murmurs, pulling her in from the cold. 

After dropping the bag on the floor, she leans up and loops her arms around his shoulders. “Part of it, yes,” she says, voice husky. 

“Only part of it?” Charlie grins, cupping her arse as he drags her closer. “What’s the other part?” 

“That would be me.” Sergei is leaning against the door, watching them. 

Charlie hums and licks his lips. “Well then, let’s get this celebration started.” 

Peter, perched on the windowsill and hidden by the small Christmas tree that Charlie’s put up, settles in for a show. It’s not as if any of them are especially shy, after all. 

Rita and Sergei lounge as Charlie pours them all wine. There is some small talk which Peter ignores. Impatiently, he waits for them to get on with it, which they do, eventually. 

“That’s enough wine, I think,” says Rita after several minutes. Taking both men’s goblets from them, she sets them aside. “After all, I don’t want either of you _too_ relaxed.” Reaching for Charlie, she pulls him into a snog. Sergei watches appreciatively for a moment before deftly removing first his robes, then hers. 

“Isn’t he helpful?” murmurs Charlie, watching with interest as Sergei removes her knickers, making sure to touch as many places as possible.

Rita smirks. “Why do you think I invited him?” she purrs before starting to unbutton Charlie’s shirt. 

Up to that point in his life, Peter’s never seen a threesome, and he’s not sure about the logistics. These three handily answer that question.

Summoning her bag, Rita pulls out a strap-on. “Shall we get started?” she says, sliding her own fingers into her cunt. 

“Let me help with that,” says Charlie, gently pushing her hand out of the way. He grins. “It’s the least I can do since you’re a guest and you brought me a gift.” 

Positioning her on her back, Charlie licks her, while Sergei fondles her tits. Peter, from his vantage point, can see everything. His breath speeds up and his little rat cock hardens.

It’s clear Charlie and Sergei know what they’re about, and within a few minutes Rita is clutching at Charlie’s shoulders, her back arching and body shuddering as she pants, “Yes! Yes!” 

When Charlie finally moves his head away and wipes his mouth, Peter can see she’s dripping wet, pink cunt open. She’s breathing heavily, a broad smile on her face. Sergei leans down and kisses her slowly, sensually.

“All right?” Charlie asks once they finish, one thumb sliding rhythmically in and out of her. 

“Brilliant, thanks.” She licks her lips and looks back and forth between them. “You blokes really know how to treat a girl.” 

“Told you,” Charlie said. “I treat guests right.” 

“That you do.” Sitting up, she reaches for the strap-on and smirks. “Now, since this party’s in your honour, Charlie, bend over.” 

Eyes wide, Peter watches as Sergei and Rita position Charlie, arse up in the air, Sergei by his head, Rita behind him. Rita takes her time preparing him, sliding several fingers in to stretch him before finally pressing the strap-on in. 

Sergei, meanwhile, is kneeling on the floor beside the sofa, staring into Charlie’s eyes, kissing him, murmuring filthy things to him. Peter catches only assorted words. “...want it so bad, don’t you? ....begging for it...see yourself, arse up...come on, take it...look so good--” 

When Rita is fully seated in Charlie, she looks at Sergei and nods.

“Ready for your present?” Sergei asks Charlie softly. 

Charlie, face red with strain, nods. Sergei supports Charlie’s head as he crawls up onto the sofa, kneeling so that his erection is directly in front of Charlie, and feeds him his cock. 

Rita and Sergei have clearly done this before, Peter soon realises as he watches them fall into rhythm. They time their thrusts and, as soon as she gets into the groove of things, Rita reaches around Charlie and starts to stroke his cock in time with their fucking. 

And Charlie takes it all, shoving himself back to be impaled by Rita, moaning around Sergei’s erection. When, finally, Charlie starts to come, Rita just speeds up, using his own come to facilitate her stroking, and Sergei matches her, fucking Charlie’s mouth steadily.

Charlie arches his back, all the tendons in his neck showing in stark relief as his body shudders. Within moments he sags, and Rita slowly pulls out. Sergei thrusts a few more times before he, too, comes. 

Peter is trembling with the need to come, but still he watches as the three lovers collapse together, murmuring endearments. 

“That was brilliant,” says Charlie once he can speak again. “You really know how to make a bloke feel good.” 

“Of course we do,” says Rita. “Although if you think we’re done--” 

Charlie laughs. “Right, time for more grog if we’re to go all night.” 

They did go all night, a fact to which Peter can easily attest since he sees everything and it’s all he can do not to transform back into human form and wank himself raw right there in Charlie’s rooms.

Later that December, Charlie presents Peter to Percy. “I know you lost your owl last year,” he says softly to Percy as the rest of the Weasleys are distracted. “And I figure Mum and Dad didn’t need to try to get you another just for school.”

Peter doesn’t think he’ll see much with Percy. He’d rather have gone to the older brother, Bill, but he hardly has a choice. _So instead I get the stuck-up little priss,_ he thinks. But he’s proved wrong when the Weasley genes breed true.

~

_I should have known,_ Peter thinks as he reflects. _Molly and Arthur had to have always been at it like rabbits to produce all those children._ His nose twitches as he recalls those memories.

~

After Charlie leaves Peter with Percy, Peter considers running away, but doesn’t. First, it’s cold outside, and there’s nowhere he’s likely to find more food than in Molly’s kitchen, and second, he’s pretty sure that if he calls attention to himself, Molly or Arthur will take a close look at him. And he doesn’t need that. 

So, once again, he watches. And when the family goes to bed he explores the house. Which is how he sees how Molly and Arthur celebrate the holidays.

~

Peter has located a nice bit of cheese someone left out and has dragged it into a corner of the living room when Molly, giggling, walks in. She pulling Arthur after her and wearing-- Peter drops his cheese in shock. She’s wearing a see-through negligee, and in that moment he can see why Arthur's never looked anywhere else.

Molly is stacked, with huge, gorgeous tits and curvy hips. Swivelling those hips, she whispers, “Let’s do it under the tree, the way we did before we had children.” 

“Oh, Mollywobbles,” Arthur breathes, already undressing. “You’re so good to me.” 

Once naked, Arthur can’t keep his hands off her, trying to touch every inch of her skin as she pushes him down and straddles him. “Remember our first Christmas together?” she murmurs, teasing him by leaning down and brushing her nipples over his chest. 

He groans. “Yes.” 

“You know what was my favourite thing?” she asks, undulating her hips. 

Arthur’s hand settles on her thigh and, panting, he shakes his head. 

Molly smiles. “When I rode you.” 

“Merlin.” 

She shakes her head, and, grasping his cock, positions herself until she can sink down onto his erection. “He’s not here. Will I do?” 

Arthur can’t even answer; instead he arches up, cupping her breasts in his hands as he tries to thrust into Molly. And Molly is helping him, starting out slow but speeding up as she nears orgasm. 

Peter has discarded his cheese and is creeping closer to get a better look. Before he can get much closer, however, Molly’s body starts shaking and she is trembling, and Arthur takes control, rolling until he is on top and then thrusting into her over and over. They’re moaning and shouting and Peter wonders why no one else can hear. 

Finally Arthur buries his face in Molly’s neck and shudders. Molly’s hands are caressing his shoulders, his back, his arse. 

“That certainly brought back some memories,” whispers Arthur.

Molly giggles, but then both freeze as the door opens and Bill sticks his head in. 

“That’s weird,” he says. “I could have sworn I heard something.” 

“You’re just nervous,” says a woman behind him. “We can always go to my place--” 

“Where’s the fun in that, Tonks?” Bill asks, turning around to face his companion, a pretty bird with pink hair. 

Tonks rolls her eyes. “Then let’s get on with it, shall we?” she says, grabbing his hand and pulling him away. “I thought you had some...etchings to show me.” 

As the giggling dies down, Arthur exhales. “Good to know my Disillusionment Charms still work.” 

Molly smiles. “They always were the best.” She glances towards the door. “Maybe we should go upstairs--” 

“Now, Molly, he’s of age, they both are,” Arthur reminds her. “And she’s an Auror trainee. We could do worse for a daughter-in-law.” 

Molly purses her lips. “I suppose. Something tells me that’s not to be, though.” 

Later that night Peter tries to get into Bill’s room, but is blocked by the strongest wards he’s even encountered. Later, when he overhears another of the Weasley children talk about him being a Curse-Breaker, he understands and never again tries to spy. 

Plus, there are others to watch. Always others. 

Once Percy takes Peter with him to school, it becomes clear he, like Remus, is bent. But he only wants one person. And Peter can’t blame him, really. Oliver Wood is a beautiful boy, strong muscles, blue eyes... If Peter wasn’t straight he’d consider doing him himself. 

“...Oliver!” Percy pants as he wanks, which, Peter discovers is quite often. Certainly after every Quidditch match. Percy is quite the Quidditch fan, although he tries to make it seem otherwise, Peter suspects because he think it’ll make him seem less intellectual. 

Oliver reciprocates Percy’s interest, but it takes them until Christmas to do anything about it. In the meantime Peter has been making nightly forays into other dorms to see what they do at night. 

Slytherins are surprisingly prudish, only doing things in the privacy of their own beds and putting up wards before they do _anything_.

Hufflepuffs are friendly, _very_ friendly, and Peter discovers early that they, of any of the Houses, are most likely to host an orgy. 

Ravenclaws are curious and will try just about anything once, a trait which makes them very interesting to watch. Although Peter’s pretty sure the orgy he saw one weekend wasn’t what they’d planned. Still it’s entertaining to watch.

Gryffindors haven’t changed much since when he was in school. Except perhaps the girls are more circumspect. None of them seem inclined to want to shag their boyfriends or girlfriends in public. 

It’s a week before Christmas and Peter is sitting on Percy’s bed watching him pack to go home for the holidays when Oliver walks in. “We have to talk,” he says. 

Percy crosses his arms. “About?”

Oliver narrows his eyes. “I thought we were friends, Perce. We used to talk about everything. What happened?” 

Percy looks away, and flushes. “I guess we just grew up, grew apart--” 

“That’s rubbish.” Oliver is quite physical, Peter has noticed, and before Percy can move, Oliver’s grabbed his arm and is hauling him close. “Tell me what’s wrong!” 

Peter scurries to the head of the bed in case wands are drawn.

“I fancy you, all right?” Percy almost never shouts and Oliver’s expression seems shocked that he is now. “Just...let me go.”

Oliver smiles. “Now why would I do that?” he asks. “Since I fancy you, too.” 

Percy’s mouth falls open. “You what?” 

“I fancy you. Have done for ages.” Oliver’s hand slides down Percy’s arm until he’s interlaced their fingers. “What do you think we should do about that?”

For a moment Peter wonders if Percy’s going to be a fool, but when Percy drags Oliver’s face close and snogs the breath out of him, he settles in to watch. They’re virgins, at least Peter assumes _Percy_ is, he has no idea about Oliver, but even so, they get the hang of things pretty quickly. 

Percy’s inexpert blow job, while sloppy, clearly does the job, judging from Oliver’s expression as he comes down Percy’s throat, and Oliver’s hand job seems to suit Percy quite well. “Why haven’t we been doing this all along?” Percy asks in the afterglow. 

Oliver shrugs. “Dunno.” He grins. “But I feel safe in saying that you’ve a standing invitation to my house over the hols.” 

“And you to mine.” Percy sighs. “I never have friends over. Mum’s going to have a cow.” 

But Molly doesn’t. When Percy mentions a friend she simply smiles, and shoots a look at Arthur, who grins. 

Christmas at the Weasleys’ is as boisterous as before, with even more visitors showing up. And as the following year will be Percy’s last at Hogwarts, Arthur reminds him that he’s to pass on his familiar to his younger brother who starts there then. 

Ron is not appreciative. “A rat? An old rat at that?” 

“Hush. Mum and Dad don’t need to be shelling out more money when we’ve a perfectly good familiar for you,” says Bill, and Ron shuts up. 

Peter, who hears the exchange, smirks to himself. 

The following year passes quickly, with Peter seeing all manner of sexual acts, and over the summer, Percy makes prefect. Arthur is so proud that he buys Percy an owl. 

“Here you go,” Percy says as he hands Peter to Ron. “He’s yours now. Be good to old Scabbers.” 

Peter, who’s dozing, doesn’t even open his eyes. After all, Arthur and Molly are still at it every night, and he can’t help but watch them, which means he sleeps most days. 

But, where Percy doesn’t seem to mind his daytime somnolence, Ron keeps trying to wake him up. “Useless thing,” he finally mutters, setting him aside as he packs. 

Getting to the Hogwarts Express is pandemonium, and Peter simply shuts his eyes and ignores the commotion. He’s never belonged to such a young wizard before. _Ruddy boy’s hardly out of nappies, he’ll be no fun,_ he thinks as they approach the train. _Perhaps I can escape. No one would care, really._

But, it’s too much work, and as Ron searches for an empty carriage, Peter settles into a comfortable position in his pocket. _Maybe some Hufflepuffs will decide to have a private party again this year,_ he thinks just as Ron opens the door to yet another carriage. 

“Mind if I sit here?” Ron asks. “All the others are full.”

“I don’t mind,” says a boy and Peter freezes. 

_Impossible,_ he thinks as Ron sits. Slowly, he tries to wriggle his way to the top of the pocket. _It can’t be--_

He peers out to see the boy has green eyes, the exact match to Evans’ and messy hair. Peter’s eyes widen as he spots the scar on his forehead. 

Ron has noticed the scar, too. “Wait, you’re Harry Potter!” 

Potter smiles. “Yeah. And who’re you?” 

As they chat, becoming fast friends, Peter relaxes. _James’ son,_ he thinks. _I can’t go anywhere, it’s fate._ And, contemplating how wild Lily Evans was, Peter grins. _Oh, what sights you’ll have to show me. I definitely can’t go anywhere now._

But firsties are boring, and Peter, who has had years creeping about and spying at Hogwarts, quickly reverts to his routine. There is extra security, and something on the third floor that Peter cannot reach, even with his skills, but there are enough other sights to distract him.

Irma Pince, for example. She’s only improved with age and, when he sees her approaching Minerva McGonagall’s quarters one evening close to Christmas, curiosity gets the better of him. 

Peter has always avoided McGonagall, mainly because she knows him, and because their Animagus forms are inherently antagonistic, but he has grown bolder over the years and, after a brief internal debate, decides to risk it.

There is a small crack by the door, large enough for him to squeeze through, and once inside he keeps to the walls. 

McGonagall’s quarters are spacious and festive, having been decorated for the holidays, but there is not a lot of furniture for him to hide behind. As luck would have it, however, there are discarded clothes on the floor, so, creeping around them, he follows the sound of voices.

Stopping at the door, he stares. 

Irma and McGonagall are kissing, hands sliding over each other’s bodies in what looks like a very familiar way. This is no new affair. As Peter watches, Irma’s hands come up to cup McGonagall’s breasts and she pulls away. “You’ve had a rough day, Minnie. Let me take care of you.” 

McGonagall sighs, nods, and in moments both are on the bed, where Peter cannot see. 

As he scrambles to climb up one of the tall wardrobes in the room, he hears the moans and soft sighs, and by the time he reaches a good vantage point, both women are completely naked, with McGonagall spread out beneath Irma. 

For all that McGonagall’s hair is streaked with silver, it’s beautiful spread out over the pillow. Her body isn’t bad either; still fit with small, pert breasts and a trim waist. Her hands are clutching Irma’s head which is buried between her legs. 

Her back arches as Irma does _something_ with her tongue and she shudders, eyes closing as her fingers clench in Irma’s hair. 

Some moments later, Irma raises her head. McGonagall has collapsed bonelessly. “Better?” 

Without a word, McGonagall reaches for Irma, pulling her up and over her body. “Not until you, too, are satisfied, dear,” she whispers, her brogue even more pronounced than normal.

Irma smiles, leaning down for a kiss. Her smothered moan as Minerva’s fingers slide into her makes Peter’s heart speed up, and as they writhe together, caught up in each other, he starts to rub himself on a nearby bottle. 

Finally, Irma clutches McGonagall’s shoulders and trembles, her breath short and stuttering, and when she’s calmer, she curls up beside McGonagall and buries her face in her neck. “Happy?” she asks. 

McGonagall wordlessly Summons a blanket and pulls it over them both. “Content for the moment,” she says. “I won’t be truly happy until that thing is out the school. What Albus was thinking storing it here, amongst curious children, is beyond me.” 

“Why didn’t he leave it in Gringotts?” asks Irma. 

McGonagall snorts. “For fear of He Who Must Not Be Named.” 

Peter, working his way down from the top of the wardrobe, freezes. 

“But he’s gone,” says Irma. 

“Albus thinks he’s merely non-corporeal and that someone is helping him to try to return to our plane.” McGonagall sighs. “I fear he may be right. But whatever the truth may be, Albus means to protect the Stone at any cost.” 

Peter has reached the ground and, fascinated, is still listening. _What stone_? he thinks.

Irma raises her head and peers in Peter’s direction. “Is that a rat?” 

Like a shot, Peter races for the door, and it is probably only McGonagall’s relaxed state that saves him. He dives through the hole by the door and does not stop running until he is back in Gryffindor and cowering in Ron’s trunk.

After that Peter watches and waits. He discovers after the fact that Quirrell, the one professor too boring to bother watching, has been hosting the Dark Lord’s presence, and he hears the Philosopher’s Stone has been destroyed. 

But knowing that his master is out there gives him new purpose and so he watches and waits. 

When he is revealed, however, it happens suddenly. Padfoot attacks and Peter runs but is caught. Forced to resume his human shape, he tries to bluster his way out but it doesn’t work. The full moon saves him, however, and, in the confusion, he slips away, on his own for the first time in years. 

He has a purpose how, however. He must find his master, reclaim is place by his side. Glancing back at the castle, he smiles. _But I’ll be back,_ he promises. _After all, there is much more to see._

And now, despite all, he is. Peter looks up at the castle. There are wards keeping out Death Eaters, of course. He smiles and shrinks into his Animagus form. _Nothing keeps out a rat, after all. Merry Christmas to me._

~


End file.
